XXII
HE REMEMBERS
Just an ordinary woman, lost in a dream of some kind while awaiting herdeparture on an out-going train!--or such was Detective Gryce'sconclusion as he hobbled slowly past her.
Why should he give her a moment's thought? Yet he did. He noticed herdress and the way she held her hands, and the fact, not suspected before,that she was not looking out at the landscape outspread before her eyes,but down into her lap at her own hands clasped together in an unnaturallytight grip. Then he straightway forgot her in the thought of that otherwoman whose track he was following with such poor promise of success.Madame Duclos' image was in his mind as plainly as if she sat before himin place of this chance passenger. He knew the sort of hat she would wear(or thought he did). He also knew the color of her dress. Had he not beenshown the piece of goods from which it had been taken? And had he notunderstood her choice, bizarre as it was, and for this very reason, thatit was bizarre? Being a woman of subtle mind, she would reason thatsince the police were seeking one of plain exterior and simple dress, agaudy frock would throw them off their guard and insure her immunity fromany close inspection. Therefore this striped material rather than theplain black she so much preferred. Then her eyes! She would try to hidethe defect which particularized them, by the use of glasses or, at least,by a very heavy veil. While her walk--well! she might successfullyconceal her halting step if she were not hurried. But he promised himselfthat he would be very careful to see that any woman rousing his suspicionshould be given some reason for hurrying.
While thus musing, he had reached the farther end of the piazza. Inwheeling about to come back, the woman whose profile he now facedattracted his eye again, in spite of himself, and he gave her anotheridle thought. How absorbing was the subject upon which she was brooding,and how deeply it affected her!
It struck him as he quietly repassed her that he had never seen a sadderface. Then that impression passed from his mind, for he saw Perry comingtoward him with a pencil and telegram-blank in hand. He had decided tolet Sweetwater know where he could be reached that night, and Perry hadcome for the message.
It must have been fully two hours later that Mr. Gryce, sitting down inhis former chair, looked up and found his view unobstructed to the river.The woman had gone.
Just for the sake of saying something to Perry, who had drawn up besidehim, he remarked upon the fact, adding in explanation of his interest inso small a matter:
"It's the thoughts and feelings of people which take hold of my curiositynow. Human nature is a big book, a great book. I have only begun tothumb it, and I'm an old man. Some people betray their emotions in oneway, some in another. Some are loudest when most troubled, and some areso quiet one would think them dead. The woman I was watching there wasone of the quiet ones; her trouble was deep; that was apparent from heroutline--an outline which never varied."
"Yes, she's a queer duck. I saw her: I even did an errand for her--thatwas before you sat down here."
"You did an errand for her?"
"Yes; she wanted a newspaper. Of course I was glad to get it for her, asshe said she was lame."
"Lame?"
"Yes; I suppose she spoke the truth. I didn't think of her being in anyspecial trouble, but I did think her an odd one. She seemed to be wearingtwo dresses."
Mr. Gryce started and turned sharply toward him.
"What's that you say? What do you mean by that?"
"Why, this: when she stopped to get her money out of some hidden pocket,she pulled up the skirt of her dress, and I saw another one under it.Perhaps she thought that was the easiest way of carrying it. I noticedthat her suit-case was a small one."
"Describe that under-frock to me." Mr. Gryce's air and tone wereunaccountably earnest. "What was its color?"
"Why, reddish, I think. No, it had stripes in it and something likespots. Do you suppose it was her petticoat?"
Mr. Gryce brought his hand down on his lame knee and did not seem to feelit. "Find out where she's gone!" he cried. "No, I will do it myself."And before the other could recover from his astonishment, he had startedfor the piazza where he had just seen the proprietor of the hotel takehis seat.
"This comes from an old man's folly in thinking he could manage an affairof this kind without help," he mumbled to himself as he went stumpingalong. "Had I told Perry whom we were after and how he was to recognizeher, I should have spent my time talking with this woman instead ofstaring at her. Two dresses! with the bright one under! Well, she's evenmore subtle than I thought."
And by this time, having reached the man he sought, he put his question:
"Can you tell me anything about the woman who was sitting here? Who sheis and where she has gone?"
"The woman who was sitting here? Why, I should say she was a factory handand has gone to her work on the other side of the river."
"Her name? Do you know her name? I'm a detective from New York--one ofthe regular police force. I'm in search of a woman not unlike the oneI saw here, though not, I am bound to state, a factory worker except oncompulsion."
"You are! A police detective, eh, and at your age! It must be a healthyemployment. But about this woman! I'm sorry, but I can't tell youanything except that she came on the same train you did and wanted a boatright away to take her across the river. You see, we've no ferry here,and I told her so, and the only way she could get across was to wait forPhil Jenkins, who was going over at five. She said she would wait, andsat down here, refusing dinner, or even to enter the house. Perhaps shewasn't hungry, and perhaps she didn't wish to register, eh?"
"Had her speech an accent? Did you take her for a foreign woman?"
"Yes, I did and I didn't. She spoke very well. She's not young, youknow?"
"I'm not looking for a young woman."
"Well, she's gone and you can't reach her to-night. There they are now,see! about a quarter of the way across. That small boat just slippingacross the wake of the big one."
Mr. Gryce looked and saw that she was in the way of escape for to-night.
"When can I get over?" he asked.
"Not till Phil crosses again to-morrow noon."
"Meanwhile, she may go anywhere. I shall certainly lose her."
"Hardly. She's bound for the factory; you can just see the roof ofit above the trees a little to the right. She asked me all sorts ofquestions about the work over there, and whether there were decent placesto live in within walking distance of the factory."
"Then she isn't lame? My woman is a trifle lame."
"So may this woman be, for all I know. I didn't see her on her feet, butshe carried no crutch--only a bag and an umbrella."
"A brown bag, neat like herself in appearance?"
"No. It was light in color and old. She herself was neat enough."
Mr. Gryce's brows came together. He was in a quandary. He felt convinced,with a positiveness which surprised him, that in watching the withdrawalof this small boat farther and farther toward the opposite shore, he waswatching the escape of Antoinette Duclos from his immediate interference.
Yet, circumstantial as were the proofs which had led him to thisconclusion, he felt that he would gladly welcome some furthercorroboration of those proofs before risking the time and opportunity hemight lose in following the person of two skirts to her destination onthe other side of the Hudson. There were more reasons than one why hecould not afford to lose one unnecessary minute. An extra twinge or twoof rheumatism warned him that he was approaching the point ofdisablement.
Moreover, of Mr. Gryce's secret fears there was one which loomed largerthan the others and held an impulsive, unconsidered movement in check.He must have proof of her identity--which nevertheless he did notquestion--before hazarding himself and the success of his undertakingby a delay of so many additional hours. But what proof could he hopeto obtain under the circumstances in which he found himself placed?Any appeal to Mrs. Edouard Duclos, by telephone or telegram, wouldcertainly fail of its purpose. Even if the neat black dress in which h
ersister-in-law now traveled was one from her own wardrobe, he would findit impossible to establish the fact in time to make his own decision. Thechild--yes, he might worm that fact out of the child if he were where hecould reach her; but he was miles away; and besides, something within himrevolted from involving this child further in schemes honest enough fromhis standpoint, but certainly not helpful to her. No, he would have totrust his intuition, or--
He had thrown himself into a chair at the side of his host, but he rosequickly as his musings reached this point. The proof he had been lookingfor was his. In recalling the child to mind there had flashed upon hisinner vision an instantaneous picture of her appearance as she stooped topick up his stick in front of the drug-store. He saw again the bendingfigure, the flushed cheeks and the flaxen locks surmounted by a littlehat. Ah! it was that little hat! The impression it had made upon him wasgreater than he thought. He found that he remembered not only itsribbons, but the bunches of curiously tinted flowers hanging down infront. And these bunches, or some precisely like them, had been thesole trimming of the hat he had been contemplating so long from the otherside of the window. The woman was Madame Duclos. These flowers had beentaken from the child's hat and pinned upon the aunt's; and it was theirfamiliar look which had given him, without any recognition of the reason,his surety as to the latter's identity.
Calmed immensely by this assurance, he turned back to have another wordwith the proprietor, now busily engaged with his newspaper.
"Will you be obliging enough to see that I'm given an opportunity for afew words with this Phil Jenkins on his return?" he asked. "And if youwill be so good, respect my confidence till I am sure I have made nomistake in thinking what I have of his passenger."
The proprietor nodded, and Mr. Gryce settled himself again inside towatch for the rowboat's return.
What he learned that night from this man Jenkins calmed him stillfurther. The woman had acknowledged, on leaving him, that she was goingto seek work at the factory. "A little old for the job," the manvolunteered, "but spry. How she did clamber up that bank!"
It was enough; Mr. Gryce was satisfied, and engaged a seat in his smallboat for the following day.
The Mystery of the Hasty Arrow Page 22
